


X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) comment_fic prompts

by ibonekoen



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibonekoen/pseuds/ibonekoen
Summary: A collection of prompts I've written for the Livejournal community comment_fics





	1. Erik/Charles, Erik's reaction to finding out that Charles is paralyzed (Post X-Men: First Class)

Erik had anticipated what he would find when he went to visit Charles. There was no denying that bullet had struck Charles' spine, and Erik had seen enough such injuries in his life to know what it would mean. Still, the stark reality of Charles in that silver wheelchair was almost more than Erik could bear. Charles, his beautiful Charles, with those fantastic long legs that had once wrapped around him so sinuously, sat unmoving in the wheelchair, his hands folded across his lap as he watched Erik.

The words "I'm sorry" rested on the tip of Erik's tongue, but he couldn't seem to give them voice. They felt hollow, a feeble attempt at righting such an egregious wrong. _I shouldn't have come..._ he couldn't help but think.

The startling blue of Charles' eyes caught his attention, and he could see the fondness and affection the other man held for him. Astonishment threatened to overwhelm him. After all that had happened, why wasn't Charles looking at him with hatred and anger? _Bitterness at the very least. I'm the reason you're in that chair,_ he thought, rage directed at himself boiling up inside him.

"You never meant for it to happen, Erik," Charles said quietly, and for once, Erik couldn't find it in him to be upset at the telepath reading his mind. Sometimes it was far easier to think what he wanted to say. "I forgive you."

Erik gave a vehement shake of his head, scowling. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, Charles," he said. "I've replayed it in my head a thousand times since that day. I keep seeing your face, hearing your cry of pain." He felt a tear slip down his cheek, the anguish he felt almost palpable on his face. "I'm so sorry, Charles."

He squeezed his eyes shut against a flood of tears, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He could hear the soft whisper of the wheels of Charles' chair as they rolled across the carpet of Charles' study, and then a warm palm slid against his, fingers curling his hand.

"I know," Charles whispered, gripping Erik's hand tightly in his own. "I could never hate you, Erik, not even for this. You shall always have my love."

Erik shook his head again, silently protesting. He no longer deserved Charles' love. _I will find a way to make this right_ , he thought, knowing that Charles could hear him. _Even if it takes my whole life, I'll never stop looking for a way to make you walk again._

"Erik-" Charles began, his fingers tightening around Erik's hand, but the other man easily broke his grip, pulling away. "Erik, please." He frowned deeply as Erik strode past him, and the telepath let out a frustrated sigh as he tried to turn his wheelchair around to catch his friend before he left. "Erik!"

His heart sank as he heard the door click, and he sent out one last desperate thought, _Don't go..._


	2. Charles/Erik, accidental first kiss

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Charles had these grandiose plans of wooing and courting, of romance and roses, candles and wine in crystal goblets. He'd envisioned his first kiss with Erik to be a gesture of tenderness, a gentle promise of more to come.

He certainly hadn't meant for Erik to be mid-sentence, his words stoppered by the frantic crushing of Charles' lips against his. The moments leading up to the kiss hadn't been all that romantic or sexual; they'd been playing chess in front of the fireplace in the study, and Charles had spent a large portion of the game squirming in his seat with heat licking at his lower regions from the sight of Erik's long fingers curled around individual chess pieces.

The subject matter of their discussion hadn't been all that titillating either; they'd talked about Shaw and Erik's thirst for revenge, and the coming challenges the young mutants would have to face.

Nothing that warranted Charles practically launching himself across the chessboard to devour Erik's mouth.

Yet, here he is, fingers curled around the armrests of Erik's chair, bent over him, tongue playing over the contours of Erik's mouth.

When he draws back, his face is flushed and his chest rises and falls in erratic beats. Erik's eyes are a cool, steely blue, and Charles' mouth goes dry. 

"I-I-I'm so sorry," Charles squeaks, his eyes wide and panicked. He stumbles back, intending to flee from the room, but Erik catches his wrist and drags him back close, silencing his protests with another kiss.


	3. X-Men: First Class, set during Charles' Oxford days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt for this fic was "When he was young and still struggling with his ability, the pitter patter of rain would drown all the voices that caused him pain."

When Charles was young and still struggling with his ability, the pitter patter of rain would drown all the voices that caused him pain. The roaring noises in his head would smooth out to a dull whisper, and he could feel the tension bleed from his body as he sagged into the cushions of the plush couch in the drawing room. 

He'd lie there, watching the patterns of raindrops as they slid down the windows and he'd let the cadence of the rain lull him into a light doze, simply enjoying the quietening cacophony of voices. 

To this day, he's never truly free of the voices. Even when he's alone, if he's the slightest bit distracted and the walls he's built up around his mind to shield himself buckle just a little, he catches a stray thought from an unseen person -- the single mother who lives two flats above and to the left of his own Oxford flat, the butcher half a block down the street or even the paper boy as he makes his rounds. All the noise makes it difficult to concentrate on his thesis paper, and he's never so grateful as the moment he hears the first crackle of lightning, the dissonant rumble of thunder in the distance.

He lays his pen down on his desk and stretches his arms high above his head, then rolls his shoulders before pushing his chair back and standing. Padding over to the couch in socked feet, he curls up and closes his eyes, letting the familiar pitter patter of rain lead him off into a light sleep as blissful quiet settles upon his mind.


	4. Charles and Raven, the first time they see each other again after the events of First Class

At first, Raven thinks nothing of Charles seated behind that mahogany desk in his father's study. How many times has she seen him in the exact same position, bent over a textbook, writing out notes to himself in that inelegant scrawl that no one else can decipher?

The air between them is filled with awkwardness, and she offers him a wan smile. "Surprise."

She'd known Charles' injury would be bad -- even she's smart enough to know it's impossible to take a bullet to the spine and walk away clean -- so the sight of her brother (for that's what he will always be, no matter what) rolling the metal chair away from the desk makes her breath catch in her throat. Unbidden, her hand rises, fingertips pressed against her lips, and now he's offering _her_ the wan smile.

"I believe that was my line, Raven." His voice is light and airy, carrying that jovial tone that he'd always used when he was teasing her, and she wants to smack him because how can he be so cavalier about such things? He's in a _wheelchair_ , his legs rendered useless, and he's making jokes, treating it like he'd just pulled off an elaborate prank.

And god, there's a small part of her that desperately wishes he would laugh and say "I'm only joshing, Raven! April's fool!"

She turns and flees, ignoring the bitter cold of January and Charles shouting at her, pleading with her to "Come back, Raven!" Because how can she come back? How can she ever come back, knowing that she left him when he needed her the most?


	5. Charles/Erik, shmoopy angst and holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post X-Men: First Class

It's Christmas Eve, and while this has never been Charles' favorite time of the year, Raven's presence has made it tolerable. They may not be related by blood, but she's more family to him than his own mother, and she's always made the season seem brighter. It's especially evident this year, because this is the first time since he was twelve that he's had to face Christmas without her.

He's sent the students to bed hours ago, and he should be going too; he certainly shouldn't be sitting in front of the fireplace in his study, a half-drank bottle of Scotch clutched in his hand. He's not quite sure when he abandoned the pretense of the glass tumbler that he'd been using, but drinking straight from the bottle suits his darkening mood much better.

It's nearing midnight, or perhaps the witching hour whizzed by ages ago. At any rate, the fire's dying, and he should really tend to it if he doesn't want to end up chilled. He settles the bottle in his lap and lowers his hands to grasp the wheels of his chair, and...

He exhales a melancholy sigh and slumps back down in his chair. It's too much effort to roll forward even a centimeter, and the alcohol will keep him warm enough. His fingers curl around the bottle, lifting the neck to his lips once more, and he stops just short of tilting the bottle up so the amber liquid flows down to his waiting lips.

Was that a noise he'd heard? Or have the late hour and the unnatural stillness of the house gotten to him?

He hears it again, the quiet jangling of the locks on the French doors leading out into the garden, and he snorts softly, choosing to ignore it in favor of taking his belayed sip that turns into more of a guzzle as the latch releases and the doors swing open.

"Charles."

He squeezes his eyes shut against the wet prickle of tears as that familiar, tranquil voice smooths over him, and he shakes his head. "You can't be here."

He hears the muted thud of bootfalls move toward him, and he shakes his head harder, dropping the bottle to his lap and not caring that precious liquid sloshes out, wetting the soft blanket spread across his lap. His fingers, numbed by inebriation, fumble to grasp the wheels of his chair, to propel him backwards and out of the room, and his breath constricts in his chest as his chair comes to a sharp halt.

He doesn't even need to open his eyes to know that Erik is standing there with his hand outstretched, his fingers slightly splayed. He can paint the picture so eloquently across the inky blackness before his eyes, and he exhales a quivering breath.

“Let me go, Erik,” he whispers, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut.

“Why? So that you can wheel out of here and pretend that nothing is wrong? Pretend that you’re fine and not spending every waking moment fighting to keep yourself from falling apart?”

Charles swallows hard as warm hands cup his cheeks, and against his better judgment, his eyes open. He draws in a startled breath as Erik’s face hovers in his vision, and he tries to pull back, tries to turn his head away, but Erik’s grip is too strong, holding him fast. He laughs, a low chuff of breath, and shakes his head, but he stills as Erik’s chapped lips brush against his own.

It’s just a soft press of lips, a quick touch, but it’s everything that Charles has been aching for since Erik left him on that beach. It’s enough to make him feel alive for the first time in months, and he sighs, his eyes closing again.

“Raven didn’t want you to spend Christmas Eve alone,” Erik whispers, his thumb stroking Charles’ cheek.

Charles chuffs out another soft laugh. “So she sent you?”

“I volunteered.”

That has a third laugh dying on his tongue, and he swallows, his eyes opening to gaze wonderingly at Erik’s face. There’s much they need to say to one another, and Erik hasn’t even brought up the wheelchair yet. Charles opens his mouth to speak, but Erik silences him with a finger pressed to his lips.

“Shh. Not a word.” Erik stands and offers Charles a gentle smile as he removes the bottle from Charles’ lap; before Charles can protest, he’s scooped up in Erik’s arms and carried upstairs to his bedroom, which he hasn’t been capable of stepping foot in since the incident that robbed him of the function to walk.

Erik settles him onto one side of the bed, and he watches him strip down to his underpants. It takes a bit of rearrangement but eventually they’re nestled under the covers, spooned together with Charles wrapped up in Erik’s embrace, and it’s the most intimate Charles can recall feeling, his back pressed to Erik’s chest. It feels like coming home, and he lets out a blissful sigh as his eyelids grow heavy.

In the morning, Erik will be gone and Charles will think it all but a dream if it isn’t for the still-warm spot next to him in the bed, but for now, as sleep slips in to claim him, he just thinks to himself, _This is a lovely Christmas miracle_.


	6. Charles/Erik, soul mark AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first words to each other have been tattooed on their skin since birth

_Get off me!_

For years, those words have plagued young Charles Xavier, taunting him in harsh, severe black lines on the inside of his right wrist. A constant source of distress, he can't imagine in what possible scenario his soulmate could be shouting those words at him the first time they meet.

He remembers his father's soul mark -- _Oh, hello_ scrawled across his chest, right above his heart, in soft, wafty letters -- and his mother's matching _Excuse me, so sorry_ in bold script on the inside of her elbow. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the placement of soul marks, just that the letters seem to match the personality of one's intended. He remembers his father telling him the story of how his parents had met, bumping into each other on the platform at the train station.

It's a sweet story, and Charles knows his grandparents had equally sweet words tattooed on their skin.

"Maybe you've swooped in and broken up a fight," his sister Raven suggests when she finds him examining the mark yet again, "and he's still angry and wanting to continue the fight."

Charles' eyebrows lift. "You think so?"

"Of course." Raven beams at him. "You couldn't hurt a fly much less an actual human being."

It's reassuring for the moment, but he still wonders, still worries, still frets. They never discuss what had happened to their stepfather, Kurt Marko, but Charles knows it wasn't a heart attack that killed him. He'd done it. He'd willed Kurt's heart to stop with just the power of his mind. He's not sure what he's capable of doing.

So he frets and he worries and he tries his hardest not to think about the words written on his wrist until—

He's on a boat commanded by the CIA on a manhunt for Sebastian Shaw, and there's a man in the water, someone like him, a mutant, and Charles has only a split second to marvel at the man's desperate attempt to stop the metal submarine with his abilities when it occurs to him that my god, he's going to drown himself!

"Let go!" he screams aloud and in the man's mind. "You have to let go!"

He's diving into the water after alerting Moira to the man's presence, because someone has to do something, and he finds the man (Erik) in the dark water. His arms wrap around Erik from behind, and he hears

 _Get off me!_ The command is barked at him, and oh, the harsh, block letters make sense; this Erik is all gnashing teeth and sharp edges.

Later, once he's coaxed Erik from the water and Shaw's escaped, he catches a glimpse of looped lines scrawled across Erik's chest. They're down in one of the bunk rooms for the crew, changing out of their wet clothes, and he blinks. "Is that- Forgive my forwardness, but that, on your chest there."

Erik averts his eyes but pulls the neckline of his shirt down so Charles can read the words scrawled over his heart, and Charles starts to laugh. _Let go! You have to let go!_

"Such an unconventional mark," he drawls as he rolls up his sleeve and shows Erik the words on his wrist.

Something in Erik's steel blue eyes flashes, and Charles' stomach flip flops. Unconventional, he will come to realize much later, describes their relationship perfectly.

For now, there's only heat and promise in Erik's eyes, and Charles' breath catches in his throat as anticipation warms his belly. Whatever the future brings, at least he can meet it with confidence and the knowledge that his soulmate is by his side.


	7. young!Jean Grey/Logan, ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during X-Men: Apocalypse; the theme of the day was 27 words, which explains the brevity of the piece

She peers into his eyes; he feels fingers tiptoeing through his brain.

The ice melts, small droplets of condensation at first, then rushing into rivulets until—

 _Logan_.


End file.
